


counting stars

by anythingbutplatonic



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Aaron has a freckle kink, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Tactile, cute husbands, morning fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutplatonic/pseuds/anythingbutplatonic
Summary: Aaron's favourite part of Robert is his freckles.





	counting stars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt by bigemmerdalefan on Tumblr: 26. tactile

In the dim light of the morning, the sun barely up, the first few rays straining to reach through the curtains, Aaron was - shockingly - awake before Robert. Groggily, he peered over Robert’s shoulder at the alarm clock next to the bed: 5:42am.

Why was he awake so early? He hadn’t had a bad dream, or needed to go to the bathroom, Liv hadn’t woken him up with her wandering around the house at all hours and Seb was at Diane’s, meaning that he hadn’t been woken by his cries over the monitor. 

But for once, being awake at such an unusual hour didn’t send his heart beating fast in his chest, his breath unable to get into his lungs. He didn’t feel the usual clammy sweat prickling across his forehead or down his back that meant he was anxious and on edge, didn’t feel the tightness all over his body like his skin was drying out and _stretching_, squeezing him, pinning him down where he lay.

It was the opposite of that, actually. Nestled in their duvet, one of Robert’s feet hooked over his ankles, his toes cold against Aaron’s calf, with his husband fast asleep next to him, breathing deeply and steadily, Aaron felt completely, wholly, and utterly _calm_.

Rolling onto his side so that he was facing Robert, he tucked a palm under his cheek on the pillow and simply took advantage of the moment to watch him for a bit. It wasn’t something liked to admit he did - because he knew Robert would tease him for it, call him a perv or a soppy git and threaten to tell everyone just how lovesick the great moody Aaron Dingle was - but just for now, he had his husband all to himself, if he wanted to take a look at him and marvel over how lucky he was to have him in his life, then he damn well would.

Because he really, really was. Lucky, that is. Everything about Robert made him feel whole, from his beaming smile when he was really happy, to the way he dumped at least three sugars in his coffee every time, to the tiny little gestures and touches that made him feel so special and so loved. Sometimes it was a steaming cup of tea on the beside table with a scrawled note, _See you later, R xxx_. Sometimes it was the touch of his warm, wide palm on the small of Aaron’s back when he was feeling stressed or in an uncomfortable situation, a reminder that he wasn’t alone and that he had something, someone, present and physical to fall back on. 

Sometimes it was the low hum of Robert singing in the shower, or the joy that radiated off of him when he showed him a new photo or video of Seb that Rebecca had sent. 

And sometimes it was this, lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, watching Robert sleep peacefully next to him and drinking in everything about his husband, committing every tiny detail to memory over and over again.

In the half-light, the gold tones of Robert’s hair stood out, thick and floppy and soft over his forehead; it stuck up a little bit at the back, the same way Seb’s did if he’d slept in weird position, and without its usual style it made Robert look much younger than he was. It softened the hard edges of him that he projected to the world, confident and cocky and suave, and betrayed the gentleness and the sweetness that Aaron knew lay underneath the smug smirk and biting sarcastic remarks. 

He wouldn’t change those things for the world, though. Because they were what made Robert, Robert.

Letting his gaze travel further down Robert’s face, he took in his thick black eyelashes, resting on the tops of his cheeks as he slept, and the pale skin of his eyelids where his summer tan hadn’t reached. Aaron didn’t tan; he just went red and burned, and was always envious of Robert’s ability to turn nut brown the minute he stepped out into the sun. It suited him, it made his blue-green eyes stand out even more brilliantly and left Aaron with his mouth watering, wanting to peel off his clothes to find out just how far the sun’s rays had reached. 

He took in the soft curve of his cheeks, the line of his jaw with the almost invisible, but still there to Aaron’s trained eyes, fine blond stubble that showed up if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Robert snuffled in his sleep, rubbing his cheek against the pillow, and Aaron watched the column of his throat relax and contract, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that reminded Aaron later to put his mouth there where the skin was thinner and more sensitive, just to see how Robert would respond.

Lastly, though, Aaron took in his favourite part of all about his husband; his freckles. Now that summer had arrived, they had exploded across his skin like tiny stars, each one a slightly different shade of brown, covering him from his cheekbones to his shoulders and down the line of his back; there were even some on his thighs and shins, and Aaron loved to kiss them, just because he could.

He traced the pattern of them with his eyes across Robert’s nose and cheeks, to his forehead, and down to his chin, where they became more sparse before disappearing entirely at his throat, only to show up again along his collarbones and across his shoulders, hidden by the material of his pyjama top. He followed the path over and over, noticed how some freckles were smaller and some were larger; some were paler and some were darker; some were fine like a sprinkle of sand and others a dense spray like a cluster of flowers on a branch, so close together they were almost a part of the rest of Robert’s tanned skin. 

Aaron couldn’t help it; he reached out and touched, he wanted to press his fingertips to Robert’s skin, to feel how soft and smooth it was beneath his fingertips, and he wanted to follow the path of those freckles with more than just his eyes. He wanted to feel their dispersal across his husband’s face, he wanted to memorize their shape and placement and exactly how they looked, so that if he closed his eyes, he’d be able to see them entirely in his mind’s eye.

Gently, impossibly gently, he brushed his thumb over Robert’s cheekbone over and over again, before tracing his fingers lightly down the side of his face, following the line of it to his jaw. Feather-light, he let his fingers dance across the path of his freckles, trying to cover each and every one of them with the touch of a fingertip, _one, two, three, four, twelve, twenty-six, thirty…._

Dozens. There were dozens of them, and Aaron lost count of exactly how many as he traced them with care, desperate not to wake Robert and let him keep sleeping, keep dreaming about whatever it was he dreamed out. 

On his third route across the planes of his face, Robert stirred, his eyelids fluttering as he slowly roused to half-sleep. His voice thick and heavy, he mumbled, “What are you doin’?”

Aaron saw no reason in lying. “Countin’ your freckles,” he said, letting his hand drop to rest on Robert’s shoulder; his thumb stroking the patch of bare skin exposed above the neck of his pyjamas. “Seein’ how many you actually ‘ad.”

“Oh,” Robert nodded, already yawning back into a slumber, seemingly satisfied with Aaron’s explanation. “Okay. It tickles.” 

“Sorry, it’ll be the callouses,” Aaron whispered. “Work with my hands, an’ all.”

“I know,” Robert mumbled, burying back into the pillow once more, his eyelids already slipped shut again. “When my alarm goes off, I’ll tell you what I want you to do with those hands.”


End file.
